Reality
by Light's Panties
Summary: He's an angel, and he is the only one who keeps me grounded. - AU, N.Italy/S.Italy, M for Language/Blood


**A/N: So, I'm still writing 'Ciao, Cupid' and I am determined to finish it. But I has a great new idea for a Hetalia chapterfic. It's called 'Dirt' and it's a little bit like what Hetalia would be like if you crossbred it with 24. **

**But I'm not going to start it until I finish 'Ciao, Cupid', but since I was **_**aching**_** to get some of this hardcore mafia-boss Lovi typed out, I thought i'd give anyone that's interested a Preview (i.e. give me some pastacest to read) This is set a couple of years before the timeline that Dirt will have, so yeah :P enjoy!**

**-/-**

You know how you get those moments occasionally when you just realise how _real_ everything is? Like if you've been staring into space and someone touches your arm, you snap back and take in everything at once. Sort of like that, only mine was more than just a touch on the arm. It started before we even _knew_ Ludwig. I'd only just come back to my brother and brought my filthy, dog-in-the-street business back with me. Not that he ever knew about that. To him it was just the return of his brother, beloved best friend from better years come back to play games again.

If you have no guts, no bravery at all, then there are two ways you can go. You can do it like my brother did, shut everything bad out and pretend the world is a happy place. Rely on your friends to help you out and just roll with it. Or you can do it how I did; I blackmailed, I hurt, I killed. I made a reputation for myself and then hid behind that intimidating veil. Nobody could touch me because they didn't _think_ they could touch me. It was that simple.

"_Talk._" I hissed at the man who sat in front of me.

His arms were wrenched behind the back of the chair and tied tightly with thick, scratching rope. Each of his legs was tied to the chair too, again with the thick rope. I could see it bristling against his skin, scraping and abrading, drawing blood. His eyes were red and bloodshot, a thin film of sweat coating his face. I could tell that this was a man who was built to be unbreakable. I was doing a good job, but he was doing an even better one. I stared into his wide, dark eyes and he stared right back at me. I didn't want it to turn into a battle of wills, and I was tired of idly beating him about. I always acted like I was so tough, but I wasn't. I was just the face of this business – the dirty work was left to my subordinates.

"Bavetta! Conforto!" I yelled.

The man looked up at me with watering eyes and then looked at the door. Two of my subordinates entered, grim smiles on their rugged faces. One stood at either side of me, and I suddenly pictured myself on a movie poster for some seedy gangster film, all prohibition and sleaze. The tied-up man glared up at us, clenching his jaw defiantly. My subordinates cracked their knuckles, ready to get to work, but I held up a hand to stop them.

"None of that messing around, you two." I muttered. "Just go straight for it. The more pain he takes, the closer we get to gaining information."

Bavetta and Conforto both nodded, and Conforto crouched down next to the man while Bavetta went to a cupboard in the corner and began to draw out knives, syringes and two vials of liquid. I cringed, turned around and walked out, pulling the door closed until I heard that satisfactory click. I wasn't the sort of person built with the mental strength for heavy torture. If the guy was tied up in front of me I could hit him around a bit but that was it. I knew exactly what Bavetta and Conforto were doing behind that door. They would mercilessly push the sharp needles into him, pumping his veins with whatever foul concoction made him squirm the most. They would draw the knives slowly across the most sensitive parts of his body until he screamed. They would heat up the blades, burning his wounds and creating new ones. They would never stop until he either talked or was left dead; a pile of blistered flesh slumped in the chair. I would constantly question myself whether or not it was worth it. Just for information? Yes. Of course it was. If I didn't stay on top of everything and get things _done_ then I'd sink right back to the bottom of the pile. And I liked it too much at the top to ever go back there. My brother admired me when I was up here. He idolised me; he wanted to be like me; I was his role model. He loved me when I was up here.

Knowing how my brother thinks, though, he'd probably love me even if I was thrown down to rock bottom. Although he'd never admire me like he did when I was at the top.

I could hear screams and yells coming from behind the door, so I stuffed my fingers in my ears and clenched my jaw, hoping that it would be over soon. I just needed to keep telling myself; _I have to do it I have to do it I have to do it_. I'd repeated that damn phrase so often throughout my life that those five words barely made sense to me anymore. I had to do it for myself. I had to do it for my self esteem. Most importantly, I had to do it for my brother.

"Mr. Vargas?"

I lifted my head and pulled my fingers from my ears just as the door cracked open. Bavetta stuck his head around it and nodded. His messy hair bounced with each nod of his head and I scowled. _Mr. Vargas_. The subordinates that knew me best called me that. Around the city I was just known by many nicknames. I was ten urban legends rolled into one. The big boss guy who you always have to invent new names for because if he ever hears his name, he knows where you are and how to break you. That was my reputation. A damn fine reputation that I couldn't risk shattering just because it made me feel uneasy.

"What is it, Bavetta?" I hissed.

"He's broken."

Slowly and calmly, I nodded. I didn't want to give one hint even to Bavetta that this business made me uneasy. We lived in a large city, and it was a dog-eat-dog world for top of the hierarchy. Nobody ever knew who controlled the place, if anyone did. There were a lot of legends and urban myths about them. But hell, _I_ was an urban myth. And I don't want to brag, but I've always reckoned that I was pretty close to the top.  
That's why the guy had to be broken. Anyone that we even thought _might_ have a chance of touching my reputation had to be broken. We had to find out whom. And we always did. Whether it was two people or twenty, I would never be touched by the brave bastards who dared to even think they _could_ touch me.

I never cared who it was that sat in the breaking chair, I always acted the same. I curled my lips in that lady-killer smile and put my shoulders back, strutting confidently into the room. I was a different person when I was like this. Whenever I wore that smile and saw the looks on their faces, I became the _boss_. I _was_ the owner of my business, not hiding behind some veil. When I stepped in the room I wore my smile through the hazy cloud of rusty-blood-scent and stared down at the man in the chair. He was dripping with blood and sweat, his hair was slick with moisture and flopped over his face. His hands were trembling in their bloody ties and I was satisfied that he had been reduced to less than a man. A quivering heap of humiliation. His wide, bloodshot eyes stared right back up at me, his eyelashes spiky with tears.

"What the fuck is it now?" He muttered.

I crouched down, my hands resting on my pristine trousers. It was a dramatic contrast with the clothing of the man in front of me. He reeked with sweat and his clothes were damp and bloodstained. I could see several open wounds up and down his arms that were beginning to congeal and had clearly been cut with hot blades, as well as the imprecise dotted holes from needles. The small needle-holes were dripping with fresh blood, but the blistered wounds were oozing thick, sticky pus and crumbling black, burnt skin. If I hadn't spent my days practising that steely armour I always wore I would have broken down in tears at the sight of such a disfigured and injured man. It wasn't _right_. But from the day I knew that _I_ would be the one to inherit the bad side of the business I'd been perfecting it.

"Listen, tough-guy" I cooed, with emphasis on the 'tough'. "Who provided you with those documents?"

"You Italian bastard."

"Calling me names won't get you anywhere." I fluttered my eyelashes, practically turning it into a flirting game. "I just need to know, and then we'll sort out your injuries and let you go."

"Haven't you fucked me up too much to 'sort out' my injuries?"

I stroked a finger across his bloody, sweaty cheek. "Of course not. But I _could_..."

He snorted. "And they said they'd broken me"

"It's code." My lady-killer smile turned into a malicious grin. Of course, it was fake, but he didn't know that. "They tell me you're broken, I come in and _really_ break you."

He snorted, a trickle of blood dripping from his cracked lips. I rolled my eyes, cupped his cheek in one hand and kissed him full on the lips. I tasted the iron tang of blood and the salty damp of tears, but by then of course I'd learnt to shut it out. When I pulled away, I ignored the trickle of his blood that seeped down my chin and focused on his reaction. As planned, he was awestruck. Nobody expects a kiss after they've been tortured, and it always did get the information out of them.

"So." I slipped out my small pistol and clicked off the safety catch, pressing it between his legs. "Tell me who gave you the documents?"

"U-uh... E-Emanuel Meer..." He stammered. I licked my lips and smiled.

"Good. Bavetta!" My employee walked over to me quickly, obediently standing next to me like a little puppy. "Find out who this Emanuel Meer person is."

Bavetta nodded and rushed out. I waited until I couldn't hear his footsteps any longer, and then I shooed Conforto out as well. He closed the door quietly behind him and waited outside. The man in the chair was starting to struggle against the ropes, ripping his skin even further. I turned my lady-killer smile back on, and sighed.

"Stop struggling, bastard."

"Aren't you going to let me _go_?"

"Now, that wouldn't be very sensible of us."

"I knew it was _you_. I had a feeling! For _fucks sake!"_ He Shrieked.

"Tell me more." I know I was always hiding behind that thick shell, but the rumours that people had always hear never ceased to entertain me. It was like some sick drug. I was addicted to the underworld.

"_You_! The one they all talk about! The Boss, The Leader, _Angel-Faced-Devil!_" He stopped to pant for air. "Let me _go!_"

"You crossed a line, bitch." I hissed, still keeping that ever-so-charming smile on my face.

"NO!"

I raised my gun and pressed the muzzle against his forehead. Droplets of sweat collected around it and trickled down. The safety was off, and my finger hovered above the trigger. I was torn between the sweet sensation of a job completed, and the horror and sheer fright of killing another human being.

"For fucks sake! NO!"

I pushed back the terror and let the sweet sensation slip through my armour and take over me. He panted and tears trickled from his eyes. My index finger lightly stoked the smooth, cool metal of the trigger.

"_Ciao_, motherfucker"

_B A N G . _

**-/-**

"Lovi'?"

I stopped and froze in the hallway at the sound of his voice. I had been hoping that he would have been asleep so that I could have had a chance to clean myself up. I was spattered with blood and stunk of blood, sweat and guns. Not to mention the salty-rusty taste that still coated my lips.

"Feliciano?" I whispered. "You're awake?"

I heard the gentle padding of his bare feet on the carpet and down the stairs. The house was still dark, so I didn't see him in front of me until he was close enough to throw his bare arms around my neck and lean up to kiss me on the lips. I jerked back, ducking out of his arms and scampering backwards a few paces.

"Lovi'? What's wrong?"

"I'm covered in... dirt..." I mumbled. "At least let me clean up before you kiss me"

"O-Okay."

I sidestepped around him and darted up the stairs, leaving scuffs of dirt on the carpet which I'd regret the next morning. I didn't care, though. All I cared about was keeping Feliciano out of the underworld. He inherited the nicer end of the business, and I could never let him know what I did to bring in the suitcase-loads of cash. He was like an angel, and the very thought of taking away his naivety made me sick. I locked the bathroom door behind me and turned on the light, cringing it my reflection. The point-blank murder had left me covered with smudges and splatters of blood and my suit was ruined. I stripped down to my underwear and flung the clothes into the laundry hamper, chucking in a few large towels as well to cover up the stained apparel. I splashed my face with water, ran a damp hand through my hair before leaving the room and flicking the switch back so that it flooded with darkness.

Feliciano was already curled up in the spacious double bed when I got to our room. I quietly closed the door and slipped into bed next to him, gently putting my arms around his waist. He sighed and wriggled around until his face was snuggled into my chest. We were brothers, but neither of us had ever found it a problem. It was just the way we worked. He held me up and kept me in this world so that I didn't sink down and become an underworld demon like so many inexperienced people. In return, he knew that I would go to Hell and back for him, and do anything in my power to protect him. He tilted his head up and softly brushed my lips.

"You taste like blood, Lovi'" He breathed.

"Shh. I know"

Instead of kicking up a fuss, Feliciano shuffled even closer to me and stroked my cheek. It was that touch that brought me crashing into reality. That touch that was _more_ than just a touch. My suit of armour fell off, but the cowardly, uncertain Lovino Vargas stayed inside. That touch lifted me from the underworld and placed me on Earth, with him. He had so much power over me and he didn't even know it. I blinked in the darkness, and everything was more real. I felt the presence of everything around me like another sense. It was magical. I kissed the top of Feliciano's head and closed my eyes in bliss, smiling calmly for the first time in years.

But of course, things would soon get even more real than I could ever imagine.


End file.
